


Audere est Facere

by KarenR2



Category: South Park
Genre: Boarding School, Drama, Jealousy, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 19:22:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18430493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarenR2/pseuds/KarenR2
Summary: After a disastrous accident that finally has Kyle's parents saying no more, Kyle is forced to attend boarding school away from all his friends. They think quarantining him in a school of polite, pompous, privileged rich kids will fix his behaviour, but Kyle has no intentions of playing nice with pretentious assholes.And his roommate?The biggest asshole of them all--Gregory of Yardale in the flesh.





	Audere est Facere

 

* * *

 

The car ride to the school is stonily quiet. The last explosive sparks of fight in him had already been doused out hours ago by a sharp snap from his mother– _it’s already **done** , Kyle, and your attitude won’t change anything, so grow up and wipe that look from your face_–but that didn’t mean he was going to make himself fucking  **happy**  about it. His teeth remain grit and his lips pursed and considering the fact that his parents were fucking  _abandoning him_  in some random-ass part of the state “for his own good,” then Kyle at least thought they should share in his suffering and be subject to his silent seething. ( _For his own good_  his ass; he can laugh about it.)

They arrive at the boarding school and, subjectively, it looked more than fine, architecture in the style of prestigious universities but obviously scaled smaller: sandstone walls, arched columns, a large, open courtyard with meticulously kept hedges and trees. But despite its first impression of sophistication (which Kyle usually would’ve appreciated), he could only look upon the estate with harsh resentment: he sees pretentiousness guised as class, the rows of barred windows his jail cells. It absolutely _reeked_ of conceited social upper class, a gathering hub for privileged twats, and  _urgh, he fucking hates it already_. They drive right up to the front and as they file out, Kyle slams his door harder than necessary. It earns him a nasty look from his mother but he pointedly avoids her gaze, defiant in the face of her irritation.

They walk him up to the main entrance, where _Audere est Facere_ is engraved into the sandstone above the doorway, but that’s where they stop. When Sheila addresses her son directly, Kyle finally meets her eyes. “Now, Kyle,” she says, and he already knows the words she’ll say—“I know you’ll be good and I know you’ll eventually understand and appreciate why we’ve done this.” She reaches out and pulls him into a hug, one that Kyle reluctantly returns. “Make me proud, bubba. You’ll be safe here.”

“Right.” His response is impassive and he congratulates himself for biting back the sarcasm.

His father says his farewells next, trying to be encouraging, but Kyle is miserable and nothing he can say can cheer him up (bar from declaring this was all an elaborate joke and that they were _all_ going home now). When they finally leave, Sheila blows a kiss his way and Gerald waves, and Kyle only responds with a tight, strained smile that doesn’t reach his eyes at all. He watches them speed down the driveway as if they couldn’t wait to get out of here too, wondering if they pitied their eldest son even just a little bit as they glanced at their rear-view mirror.  

‘Great,’ he thinks, releasing an aggravated sigh beneath his breath ten seconds after they’ve disappeared from sight. ‘Time to face the music.’ He steels himself and straightens, pulling his suitcase behind him as he pushes through the front doors.

Kyle goes through the motions as he checks in at the reception desk. A young woman—who gives him a telling once-over and whose smile is too big—checks his bags for any prohibited goods, finding nothing of controversy as expected. A security guard then frisks him, which gets his heartrate spiking a little, but he’s nervous for nothing; the guard completely misses the utility knife hidden inside his steel-capped boots and Kyle is pretty damn pleased. Idiot.

“There we go,” the receptionist says cheerfully. “All your papers seem to be in order, Kyle. Here is everything you’ll need to get you through the induction—” she hands him a bunch of leaflets—“and here is the map of the campus.” She circles his dormitory and highlights his room number, before pointing to a central courtyard. “You’ve arrived a couple hours early, so feel free to have a look around, but remember that your induction is at eleven. If you get lost, ask any of the students or teachers for directions and they’ll happily guide you.” She gives him a beaming smile, and although she was clearly trying to make him more comfortable, Kyle just felt more self-conscious. “Welcome to Charterhouse, Kyle. You’ll love it here.”

“Thank you,” he says, refraining from saying anything else lest blatant lies spew out. He swipes the papers and his key from the desk before grabbing his suitcase again and walking off.

God, he didn’t _belong_ here.

Despite how much he despised his home town, it was his _home_. He knew his place there, even if he lowkey resented the toxic bubble it stuffed itself inside. Faces were familiar, the crazy was familiar, and while he’d always planned to leave South Park eventually, he’d envisioned it being on his _own terms_. Now, he just felt like a fish plucked out of water and tossed into a much smaller tank, with company that’ll either bore him to death or eat him alive.

If the latter, then Kyle wasn’t going down without a fight. He’ll show these pompous rich kids that the guy from an obscure redneck mountain town was one they couldn’t mess with.

He slowly makes his way to his dormitory room, getting familiar with the layout of the school. It was a Sunday and it was early, so Kyle isn’t too surprised at the fact that there was hardly anyone walking around. The people he did pass—close to his age, probably students—cast him curious looks that Kyle ignored; he wants to get to his dorm without having to engage with anyone. The only thing that could make this whole experience worse is if he had a prick of a roommate—though considering what kind of place this is, that was highly probable. Still, he prays to God that the kid he’ll be living with for the rest of his high school days was someone  _quiet._

He tests the knob, finds it unlocked, and braces himself as he pushes inside.

He had a feeble hope that the roommate would be out and had just forgotten to lock the door after him, but it was dashed the second he spotted the figure sitting by a desk. He notes the broad shoulders, covered by a pressed white shirt, and the neat mass of curled blonde hair atop his head. Kyle doesn’t even have time to properly survey their room before the stranger turns on his desk chair and their eyes meet.

First thing Kyle realises is that this guy isn’t a stranger at all.

“Kyle Broflovski,” a familiar-but-not-quite-familiar voice drawls. “I welcome you to our humble abode.”

Kyle gapes for a moment before he shuts his mouth tight. His eyes narrow in thought and, a moment later, the name finally returns to him. “… Gregory,” he acknowledges. He’s more baffled than anything else—he thought he was leaving South Park behind, yet here he was. Gregory might not have stayed in South Park for long, but for however brief the time, he still stands as its reminder. “… Huh. What are the chances? Thought you fucked off back to Britain.”

Gregory frowns slightly and clicks his tongue, presumably at his language, but Kyle didn’t care. “I didn’t. Clearly.”

The redhead shrugs, walking further into the room and making his way to what he assumed was his designated bed. “Well, what else were we supposed to think? You kind of just disappeared, dude.” Not that anyone had been surprised about his departure. After Wendy ditched him, there hadn’t been much there for the English blonde; he never really did quite fit in with the rest of his cohort. Kyle would’ve felt sorry for him if Gregory had stayed long enough to be pitiful.

“But it’s whatever,” Kyle continues, dumping his backpack onto his bed and then crouching down to unzip his suitcase. “At least I won’t be rooming with a complete stranger.” Though Gregory is far from ideal (from what he could remember of the blonde, he suspects that they’ll get on each other’s nerves from time to time), he isn’t the worst human being to share a room with. At least he knew Gregory had some tact and would probably respect his boundaries.

“Indeed,” Gregory replies, and Kyle has a feeling that he was being watched. He tries to ignore it. “I’m sure you and I can work out an amiable agreement for our cohabitation.”

… Did he say ‘from time to time’? Maybe it’ll be more often than that. Kyle’s jaw is already tense with _how_ the guy was speaking—all formal and detached, speaking like a businessman when they were merely peers. He glances over his shoulder at him. “How long have you been coming here?”

“This particular room? Since the start of the school year.”

“ _No_ ,” Kyle huffed. “How long have you been attending Charterhouse?”

He thinks he imagines it but there’s a brief spark of amusement in those lime-green eyes of his before it’s dashed by a placid, passive smile. “Since I graduated middle school,” he answers. “So two years.”

Kyle balks at that. _Two years_. That seemed like an incredibly long time here, and what was worse—Kyle will be spending the last two years of _his_ high school life here as well. How fucking _miserable_. He turns back to his suitcase, continuing to unpack his clothes and whatever few belongings he’d been allowed to bring. His eyes burned with a sadness and anger he didn’t want Gregory to see; when he opens his closet his gaze immediately snaps to the uniforms already neatly lined up for him. “Well, fuck,” he mutters beneath his breath, dismayed at the reality before him.

Fucking _uniforms._ He really had to wear this crap five times a week?

There’s a chuckle behind him. “It’s not that bad, Kyle,” Gregory speaks up. “It won’t be much different to how it usually is with you, correct? I remember you always wore that same orange jacket.”

“Because why own multiple jackets when just one will do the job?” he defends. “And at least I had a choice on what shirt to wear underneath.”  He aggressively pushes the clothes aside in order to make room. “There’s no _freedom_ here.”

“I think you’ll find that there’s a lot more freedom here than that town you called home.”

“Are you joking?” he scowls, whipping his head back to glare at him. “This place is basically a _prison_.”

“I beg to differ. Charterhouse will leave you with more opportunities than any high school in _South Park_ ever could. It’s just up to you to grasp them.”

While Kyle could admit that the curriculum at South Park isn’t the _best_ out there, he did not appreciate Gregory’s tone at all. He has friends he’s left there, after all—smart friends too, some who wanted out just like he did. He didn’t think he’ll do better than them just because he now attended a fancy private school. “Fuck off, Gregory,” he snaps. “I see you’re just the same as ever.”

The blonde hums but otherwise doesn’t comment further, thank God. Kyle finishes unpacking (he really hadn’t been allowed to bring much) and he flops back onto his bed, letting out a sigh. This is it, then. This is his life. He glances at his roommate and finds him turned back around towards his desk, scratching his pen on some paper. Kyle takes the quiet moment to observe him and his profile.

Begrudgingly, he could admit the guy grew up handsomely. He has a strong jaw, a chiselled face, bright, captivating eyes and the barest hint of dimples when he smiled. The smooth baritone of his voice is wasted on someone so arrogant, but Kyle doesn’t doubt that when he speaks, people _listen_. He’s clean and crisp and he had good posture, alabaster skin clear of blemish, curly blonde hair neatly combed back. Kyle’s eyes narrow; why does he look this good so early on a Sunday morning? It looked like he had someplace to be.

“You had church or something?”

Gregory doesn’t even look at him. “Service is at 1100 every Sunday in the chapel, if you’re interested.”

“I’m Jewish.”

“Ah. Well. There’s a synagogue in town as well. Would you like me to look up when their services are?”

“If I wanted to know, I’d look it up myself,” he retorts. So that’s why the guy is all dressed up in his Sunday best. Kyle feels smug to know his intuition was right. With that mystery solved, Kyle takes out his phone and checks his messages; for the first time that day, he actually smiles.

 **To:** Kyle | **From:** Kenny

                DUDE ITS STILL SO FCKED UP

                Let me kno if ya need 2 b rescuued or shit

                But im sur u can handle sum poshheads

                Are there any cute grls tho?????

                Miss ya already babe :***

 **To:** Kyle | **From:** Stan

                Fuuuuuuck I can’t believe ur gone :(((

                We messed up big time rip

                How’s the place? Do you like it?

 **To:** Kyle | **From:** Fatass

                AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

                How’s it feel finally being with a bunch of other prudes w a stick up their asses, jew???

                Too fucking funny

Even the messages from fatass makes him yearn to go back to South Park—at least then, he’d have the option to punch his ugly face if he so wanted. He replies to Stan and Kenny with unfiltered honesty ( _it fucking sucks, I won’t be surprised if they started sniffing their own farts, no I haven’t seen any cute girls, Kenny_ ) and to Cartman a simple _fuck off._ He’s not surprised when it’s Stan who responds first.

 **To:** Kyle | **From:** Stan

                Shit is it that bad

                Im so sorry ky

 **To:** Stan | **From:** Kyle

                Stop fucking apologising, Stan. It was all our faults, so whatever.

 **To:** Kyle | **From:** Stan

                Still…...

                Hey, sit tight I’ll come bust u out and get u home

He snorts to himself, unable to stop the surge of affection he felt for his super best friend.

 **To:** Stan | **From:** Kyle

                Thanks for the sentiment, really, but it’s okay.

                If mom finds out I’ve escaped she’ll castrate me. She’s already paid tuition and I’ve had my ear ripped off multiple times about how hard it was for her and dad to find contacts to recommend me.

 **To:** Kyle | **From:** Stan

                Shit……..

 **To:** Stan | **From:** Kyle

                Don’t worry about me, I’m a tough shit. Guess who I’m roomies with tho

                Gregory.

 **To:** Kyle | **From:** Stan

                Who

                Who’s Gregory

                Oh

                OH

                OH SHIT REALLY??

Kyle actually chuckles out loud. He could just imagine Stan’s shocked, dumbfounded face right now as he finally remembered.

 **To:** Kyle | **From:** Stan

                Daaaaamn srsly? Wow, that’s freaky

                Is he still an ass????

The redhead glances at the blonde in question, finds him still working on whatever.

 **To:** Stan | **From:** Kyle

                He’s still kind of a jerk but nothing I can’t handle.

                Just have to get used to him I guess.

 **To:** Kyle | **From:** Stan

                Wowww okay

                Good luck dude

                I really hope that place isn’t just a gathering of gregorys

 **To:** Stan | **From:** Kyle

                L O L. Funny.

                I’ll blow my own brains out if that’s the case.

 **To:** Kyle | **From:** Stan

                Pls don’t

                He’s not worth it

Kyle continues his conversation with Stan, losing track of time as he immerses himself with comforting familiarity, so he’s a little startled when he suddenly hears someone clearing their throat. He’d forgotten there was someone in the room with him. “Huh, what?” Kyle finds Gregory looking at him with an elegantly arched brow; he feels guilty, like he’d been caught with a hand in the cookie jar, but it wasn’t like he’d been doing anything shameful.

“It’s 1050,” Gregory informs him simply. “Don’t you have some place to be?”

“—Oh shit.” Kyle hastily clambers to stand, trying to locate the induction papers he’d tossed somewhere earlier. “Fuck, I still need to work out where to go—”

“We can walk there together, I’m—”

“No thanks,” Kyle interrupts, finally finding his papers. He glances at himself in the mirror, running a free hand through the locks of red hair in attempts to quickly re-tame it.  “You’ve got chapel and I’m a big boy, I’ll find it myself.”

“Kyle—”

“Catch you later, Gregory.”

He’s hastily out of the door before the blonde could offer up his help again. Kyle didn’t _need_ it, he knew how to read a damn map, he didn’t need someone to hold his hand. He didn’t belong here, that much is clear enough—he didn’t come from an upper class family, he was born and raised in a remote mountain town notorious for its crazy hicks and rednecks, he hadn’t grown up sheltered or babied (even if Cartman would say otherwise). He is loud and unforgiving and crass, and if Stan was right—if this place really is just filled with a whole bunch of Gregorys—he’s prepared to be looked down upon for his upbringing and he’ll _fight them_ , they’ll see firsthand how raw he could be _._ He is proud if nothing else, and if they were going to throw shit at him, Kyle is going to retaliate with a storm.

It’s 11:02AM when he finally arrives at where he’s supposed to be. He’s slightly out of breath (the campus is bigger than he first thought and he might’ve taken one or two wrong turns) and he slows his jog to a brisk walk as he crosses the distance towards the two figures waiting by the shade in the courtyard.

One of them is familiar.

His eyes are glued to Gregory’s face as he approaches them, realisation slowly sinking in as the blonde smiles, his guts churning. The man next to Gregory is taller, older—the chancellor of the school, and he’s looking at Kyle with barely hidden contempt in his dark eyes. He knows when he’s being appraised and he straightens his back, his own gaze bright with defiance. They’re both dressed so formally, Gregory in that pressed white shirt and black pants (apparently _not_ going to chapel, what the fuck), and the chancellor in his suit. Kyle himself is wearing a plain green shirt he’d thrown on this morning, worn jeans, and his jacket unzipped and open. His mother had been less than pleased with his outfit of choice, but their morning had been hotblooded enough with their fight that he managed to get away with it—it wasn’t the worst thing he could wear on a fucking weekend.

“Kyle Broflovski,” the chancellor greets him, holding out his hand for Kyle to shake. The man’s hand is cold against his flushed skin. “You are a little late, but I understand that you’re still getting yourself familiar with the campus.” His gaze is unblinking and Kyle assumes he’s trying to intimidate him. “Though I had assumed you’d be arriving with Gregory, here.”

Kyle grits his teeth briefly, before he forces his jaw to relax. “It’s nice to meet you too, Chancellor Martin. I apologise for my lateness.”

“Hm.” The chancellor looks him up and down again, and Kyle had a sudden urge to punch his face. “Please be more mindful of your appointments in the future, Mr. Broflovski. Time is very important. As such, I hope you can fully appreciate the… unique circumstances of your enrolment here.” Kyle notes the severe line of his mouth, the hard look in his gaze; it looks like he wasn’t the only one not entirely pleased about his forced attendance here. “We are not a school for troubled youths—we run a reputable establishment that prides itself in integrity of conduct and excellency in academia. While your grades are passable here, please be mindful of your behaviour. We do not tolerate delinquency.”

So the man knew, which doesn’t entirely surprise him; his mistrust towards him is also understandable in that case, but that didn’t stop his blood from beginning to simmer. Kyle keeps his face carefully blank.

“Your parents worked hard to get you enrolled here, Mr. Broflovski. You are a lucky boy. Do not waste this opportunity.”

Kyle feels the anger and humiliation bubbling in his gut. ‘Is this where he thinks I’m going to be _thankful—_ ’

But fortunately for all parties involved, the chancellor didn’t seem interested in what he had to say; he is content to just speak _at_ him, to lecture him, as he continues briskly, “You have already met Gregory. He will be your guide for the induction and will be responsible for you during your stay here.” The man glances at the blonde and Kyle narrows his eyes at the silent exchange they have; what? Chancellor Martin returns his gaze back to him. “You’ll be in the best hands. Gregory is our star pupil and the president of the student council. He personally volunteered to be your guide and mentor. Be grateful.”

“… I’m grateful for the convenience, yes,” Kyle finally responds; he applauds himself for sounding so neutral, even if his tone of voice came out just a little _too_ flat.

The chancellor gives him one last hard look before he nods, links his hands behind his back, and says, “Welcome to Charterhouse College, Mr. Broflovski. I hope to hear no trouble from you. Gentleman.” And with that, he walks away—surely off to do better things with his precious, precious time. Kyle _definitely_ felt _honoured_ that he was deemed important enough to be welcomed by the chancellor himself. Ugh. Pompous ass.

“I did try to tell you,” Gregory says lightly from his side.

Well, at least this explained why Gregory knew what time his induction was.

“Fuck off.”

“Shall we begin the tour?”

Kyle flips him the finger and storms off, tense and agitated and _angry_ in the wake of that belittling conversation with the chancellor. He needed to cool off before Gregory—Student Body President and apparently _college_ _favourite_ Gregory—tipped him over the edge.

_This fucking sucked balls._

 

**Author's Note:**

> || Audere est Facere - To do is to dare ||
> 
> Welcome to super indulgent Kygory on my part, in all honesty lmao. I have some bits and pieces I want to explore with this, but honestly nothing too big/serious. Potential steamy bits in the future? I'm trash, so maybe 8) Also, be warned: high school tropes galore.


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